


Hi, I Like Your Twizzles

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Fandom Trumps Hate, First Meetings, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Underage Drinking, alternate universe - figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Eric Bittle's to-do list for the 2009 Junior Grand Prix Final:1. Win a medal2. Meet the Canadian ice dancer with the beautiful eyes and the gorgeous edges
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Japan, 2009

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redheadgleek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgleek/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for Julia! Thank you so much for participating in the 2020 Fandom Trumps Hate event, and for your donation to Unsilence. And thank you as well for your wonderful prompts! This fantastic prompt served as the inspiration for this story:
> 
> _I also saw that you were interested in Yuri on Ice. I’ve been toying with an idea where Jack is a professional ice dancer with Camilla as his partner. They are the sweethearts on the Canadian circuit (think Virtue and Moir where everybody thinks they’re dating even if they aren’t). They've been a lot of pressure on them - they keep coming in second at the grands, and it’s Olympic season (most of this could be background info and not part of the main story). And suddenly, his coach has taken on Bitty (who had been a singles skater but something happened *mumble mumble fanfic magic* and now is transitioning to ice dancing with Lardo as his partner). Initial clashes, follows much of canon. I’d like an ending where they kiss on the Ice at the Olympics after one of them wins._
> 
> This is not that story, but I felt compelled to write a sort of backstory/prequel to the idea which I hope you will enjoy.♥

_When you’re fixin’ to make someone’s acquaintance, show up early and bring pie._

Unfortunately, Eric had learned the hard way that, in the world of competitive figure skating, offers of pie were more often seen as threats than overtures of friendship. Elite athletes and their teams got right weird when it came to food, it bewildered his deeply-rooted sense of southern hospitality.

He would have to rely instead on the first half of his Moo-Maw’s advice.

The banquet hall was nearly empty, only a few sparse groups of skaters and their minders clustered around the room. Eric recognized them and waved when he made eye contact—the weirdest thing about making it here (apart from, you know, _making it here_ ) was how _small everything was_. In a way, it reminded him of some of the competitions back in Georgia. Those, after all, were often tiny as well. But the finals of the Grand Prix series were small because they were _elite_ , and the fact that he was here at all still amazed him.

Eric slipped his hand into his blazer pocket and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal disk of his bronze medal. The weight made it seem more real; he found himself needing the reminder. _What do y’all think? Junior Men’s Singles Bronze Medalist? Not bad for a kid from Georgia._

The sound of Katya calling his name interrupted his train of thought.

“Eric! Go and socialize. You spent all that time worrying about being late and now you’re just standing in the corner by yourself. I did not get rushed out the door for this. Go find someone to talk to.”

Eric could hear the eye roll in her voice even though she didn’t allow it on her face.

The banquet hall had started to fill up. Eric looked around and spotted the Junior Pairs team from France who had spent most of the Exhibition trying to teach him to swear in French and laughing at his accent. With a nod to his coach he obeyed her instructions and headed out across the room. He wouldn’t mind spending a bit more time massacring the French language. The boy had had a cute laugh

As it turned out, the Junior Pairs team were happy to hang out and chat, although they refused to teach him any more obscenities. “Our coach says it’s not professional,” said the boy, his own tone faux-serious before he dissolved into helpless laughter. His laugh was still incredibly cute, although the charm was somewhat dimmed when Eric learned that he was dating his partner.

Alas.

Still, that was figure skating, and they were fun to talk to and as the evening wore on Eric gradually relaxed from his earlier nervous excitement. The room filled up, discussions got louder, the lights got lower, the music began. The banquet was turning into a proper party. Eric broke away to circulate and picked up a glass of champagne that he definitely would not be allowed to have back in the states.

He flinched at the taste, but kept drinking. The fizziness was nice. 

It was then, feeding off of the joyful energy of the party crowd and somewhat tipsy from the champagne, that he spotted his initial goal of the evening. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the banquet room, talking to one of the ISU officials, wearing a nondescript but impeccably tailored suit, was one half of the silver medal-winning Canadian ice dance team.

The man had beautiful eyes and gorgeous edges and gave terrible interviews. Seriously, he sounded like a robot whenever he ended up in front of a reporter which, especially given his expressiveness on the ice, was something of a meme and a puzzle on the fan forums (which Eric did not frequent, he would never). 

Eric wanted to meet him.

Carefully, aware all of the sudden that his sense of balance seemed to have taken an unannounced vacation, he made his way across the room. The ISU official had drifted off and his quarry had stepped back into the shadows at the edges of the room. Eric affixed his sunniest smile, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself.

“Hi, you’re Jack Zimmermann, right? I’m Eric Bittle. Pleased to meet you. I like your twizzles.”

As Jack Zimmermann turned to look at him, his face a grim frown, Eric cringed internally. _Now why the hell did I say that? He’s going to think I’m an idiot. Would it be acceptable to run away and move to Antarctica? Maybe, but then my skating career’s shot. Antarctica doesn’t have an Olympic team. Maybe I_ should _have brought pie_. He kept his face plastered with a cheerful smile. 

Jack Zimmermann looked him over, nodded, and returned his handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Eric Bittle,” he said. “I am Jack Zimmermann. I’m glad you like my twizzles.”

This was all said in such a serious monotone delivery that Eric could not tell if he was being mocked or not. Reflexively, he shook Jack Zimmermann’s hand and did not reply, staring smilingly and increasingly awkward at his face. The man glanced at their hands and raised an eyebrow.

Eric hastily let go. “Oh! I’m sorry, I’m . . . sorry. Pleased to meet you.” _What’s wrong with you, Eric Richard Bittle, you’re acting like a right and proper fool. Pull yourself together._

Fortunately, at this point Jack Zimmermann seemed to take pity on him. His distant, polite stare softened a fraction and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a small smile. “You’re the U.S. Junior Men's Singles skater from Georgia. You did your free program to Beyoncé.”

“Oh! I, um, yes,” sputtered Eric, unaccountably flattered. It wasn’t every day that someone well on his way to being a proper _celebrity_ , who wasn’t even from the same country or discipline, knew who he was. “Yes, I still can’t quite believe my coach let me do it.”

That earned him a chuckle. “It’s a daring choice. But sometimes a bold statement pays off and yours clearly did. You earned yourself a medal with it.”

Eric flushed. “Only bronze, though.”

Once again Jack Zimmermann arched one of those eyebrows at him. “In your debut year? For a skater from a region without a figure skating tradition? And didn’t you initially only receive one qualifier assignment? There’s nothing only about that.” 

Eric could feel himself going red as a tomato. “Oh, well, gee. Thank you, it sure is nice of you to say so.” It wasn’t every day you got that kind of compliment from one of the rising stars of the sport.

Jack Zimmermann gave him that small smile again. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” He shifted, seemed to relax a bit more into the sheltering shadows of his secluded corner. “So, you like my twizzles, huh?” He huffed out a small laugh and paused thoughtfully. “Tell me, what’s it like being a figure skater from the great winter sports capital that is the state of Georgia? Do people even watch ice sports down there?”

Relieved to have the focus off of his competitive merits and back on more familiar ground, Eric felt himself relax. “That’s not fair, we watch winter sports. We have an NHL team!”

“Wait, you do?” The delivery was still in that serious deadpan, which Eric was starting to believe might truly be part of the man’s personality and not a defensive affectation, but there was a twinkle in his eye that belied any true insult.

Eric burst out laughing. “Yes, we do, Mr. Canadian, no need to be rude. But figure skating, well . . . no, most folks in Georgia don’t watch figure skating.” He figured it probably couldn’t be more different, given how much he knew the Canadians loved their ice sports.

But Jack Zimmermann just gave him that tiny flicker of a smile again and asked him another round of questions.

By the time Katya tracked him down the banquet had been winding down for some time. Most of the other skaters had retired to bed, or to the unofficial afterparty that Eric had heard rumors of but knew he’d be doing five am soviet calisthenics for a month if he even thought about attending. 

As he was herded out to the Russian-accented reminders about the importance of a proper sleep schedule when Junior Nationals aren’t that far off, Eric couldn’t help but look back at Jack Zimmermann, still standing quietly in his corner. That had probably been two of the best hours he had ever spent at a figure skating related event when he couldn’t actually be skating. Behind the stern facade, the man was actually really nice! 

As Eric watched, he saw the elegantly dressed figure of Jack’s skating partner, Camilla Collins, approach him and wrap an arm around his shoulders before the door to the banquet hall closed behind him and blocked the image from his view. Eric hoped he would qualify for another competition where he would have the chance to talk with Jack Zimmermann again. Maybe one day they could be friends.


	2. Canada, 2013

Bitty had never imagined that ice dance could make him hurt as much as training a quad toe. And yet, here he was, one giant, throbbing bruise. The _precision_! The _repetition_! The constant tripping over and crashing into Lardo like he was some incompetent child wearing skates for the first time! The _judgment_! It was humiliating. And it _hurt_.

Though whether the greater damage was to his body or to his ego had yet to be determined.

Worst of all, however, was Jack Zimmermann. Whether he leveled that cold, unflinching gaze on Bitty and offered his unsolicited biting criticisms, or studiously focused on his own practice to the point where it felt like he was treating Bitty like he was invisible, every minute of being on the same rink with the man was miserable. 

Bitty didn’t even know what he’d done to make him hate his guts!

He dropped onto his bed with a pained groan. He probably hadn’t even done anything, except dare to exist, or possibly switch disciplines to ice dance. Yeah, if anyone could hold that against him it would probably be Jack Zimmermann. 

Still, it wasn’t any of Jack Zimmermann’s business what Bitty did with his career, and he could at least be polite even if he didn’t approve. 

Faintly, almost longingly, Bitty wondered what had happened to the nice, reserved, almost sweet man he’d met once at the 2009 GPF banquet. They hardly seemed like the same person, that man and this one he had to train with every day. But four years was a long time, he supposed. After all, he’d changed a lot, too. Although hopefully not into an unfeeling jerk.

With a groan of despair, Bitty contemplated the distance to the freezer for an ice pack and pulled himself upright. He couldn’t do anything about his bad-tempered rink mate, but he could at least do something about his aching muscles.


End file.
